Embers
by brickroad16
Summary: Defining moments in Morgana's relationship with Merlin, all revolving around fire. Minor spoilers for 2.03 and 2.07. Merlin/Morgana.
1. Embers

Disclaimer: I don't own "Merlin" or its character. BBC, NBC, or some other three-letter moniker ending with 'C' does.

A/N: I've written a lot for "Chuck," but this is my first "Merlin" fic. I've recently fallen in love with this show, and I just can't get enough of Merlin/Morgana. So hopefully I've gotten the characters down fairly well. I do appreciate any and all comments.

Slight spoilers for 2.03 and 2.07.

* * *

She doesn't understand how she hasn't noticed it until now. How she hasn't noticed all the close calls regarding Arthur's life that nearly succeeded, only to be thwarted by a gangly manservant who's more likely to trip over his own feet than he is to save a life.

But as Morgana sits in her chambers, staring at the smoldering remnants of the fire, she thinks back to all the times she should have _seen_ it, should have noticed what was right in front of her eyes.

It was in the way he had looked at her, when she had told him of her dreams.

It was in the way he had been so willing to help her escape to find help from and solace in the Druids.

And it was written on his face when the Witchfinder had held a knife to her throat.

She can see that moment vividly, as if it were happening right now, and time slows down for her, allowing her to capture every detail – Aredian's tight grasp on her arm, the cool authority in Uther's voice, even the sheen of the blade in the midday sun that streams in through the window.

She remembers how the handle of the knife had burned orange with heat.

And she remembers, through it all, the golden hue of his irises, glowing like embers.

It's easy for her to connect the pieces now, easy for her to see how it's always been _Merlin_ at Arthur's side whenever he's needed saving.

It's brilliant, really. Modest, awkward Merlin playing the part of the bumbling fool to hide the hero inside.

A knock sounds on her door, calling her from her reverie.

"Come in," she says, and doesn't look up when Merlin walks in cautiously, bringing with him a comforting warmth that suffuses the room and envelops her.

He holds up a tiny bottle and waves it in the air, that ridiculous smile on his face. "I brought you some more sleeping draught. Gaius wanted me to make sure you've been sleeping all right."

"Of course," she responds softly. "Thank you, Merlin."

He sets the bottle down on the table, his mouth turning into a frown when he notices her look. He hesitates, shifting from foot to foot, before asking, "Is there anything else you want? Anything I can do for you?"

A small smile appears on Morgana's lips. The way he says it – like he'd be happy to do anything she'd ask, like he's trying to look past her defenses and straight into her heart – sends a shiver of delight up her spine. Servants always ask if there's anything she _needs_, but Merlin . . . Merlin is the first to ask her what she _wants_.

If only he knew that her greatest desire is standing not six feet from her.

"No, thank you," she replies, glancing up to smile at him.

Merlin blushes under her gaze, but he takes a step forward and says, "It's late, and cold. At least let me stoke the fire for you."

Before she can protest, he's already kneeling on the hearth and piling more wood onto the coals. She wants to tell him that she doesn't need the fire to keep her warm, not when he's here, but that's not exactly the sort of thing the King's ward can tell the Prince's manservant. So instead, she gets out of her chair to kneel down beside him and help. When Merlin turns his face to hers, she can see the flames reflected in his bright, earnest eyes, turned a burnt amber color by the fire, not the distinct gold she'd seen that afternoon.

Their hands brush as she piles a small log onto the fire, and Morgana feels a tiny jolt go through her before Merlin pulls his away with a low, nervous laugh. But he turns his gaze back to her, and she doesn't need dreams to glimpse the power he could send coursing through her veins with just the touch of his lips.

She can see it plainly now, see the magic surging around him like flames dancing around dry tinder. She reaches out to touch him, to feel it flowing beneath his skin, but she stops, her hand trembling in mid-air.

Merlin rises abruptly. "If there's nothing else, my lady, I'll be going."

"No," she shakes her head. "That's all."

Smiling softly, he reaches down to lift her to her feet. When their fingers meet, a warm tingle runs through her, straight to her heart. She lets out a soft gasp, but Merlin, busy helping her up, pretends not to notice.

"Merlin," she says quietly. He glances up in expectation, meets her questioning eyes with his own intense ones. She clears her throat and asks, "If I have bad dreams tonight . . . I can talk to you?"

"You may _always_ talk to me, my lady," he assures her with a kind smile. "About anything."

Morgana, looking down at their entwined hands, whispers, "Thank you."

When Merlin gently releases her fingers, the heat from his touch quickly dissolves into a chill that emanates uncomfortably through her body.

His request comes back to haunt her, a whisper on the black night air.

_Is there anything else you want?_

Yes. She _wants_ him to stay. She _wants_ him to keep her warm through the cold dark night. She _wants_ a love that burns slow and steady in its passion, enduring embers in a world preoccupied with blazing flames, flames which will extinguish too quickly and leave only ashes in their wake.

But before she can admit any of this, Merlin takes a step back, and, with a small bow, says, "Goodnight, then, Lady Morgana." When he leaves the room, he takes the heat with him, despite the fire that he's left blazing in the hearth.

The bow, meant to remind her of the discrepancy between their stations, succeeds. But it also infuriates her. Can't he see how that doesn't matter anymore?

She doesn't care if he's merely a servant, as long as she knows she's not _alone_.

* * *

When Morgana wakes in the morning, vestiges of dreams still clinging to her drowsy mind, the first thing she hears is rustling near the fireplace. She lifts her head, only to find Merlin gazing back at her with his goofy grin.

"Where's Gwen?" she asks, sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

"In the kitchens getting you breakfast," he answers before turning away to place another log on the already blazing fire. "I thought you might be cold."

Morgana smiles. "How considerate of you."

She watches him silently, keeps her eyes on his lanky, sinewy frame as he works. He's so unassuming, so much more than what he seems. But her dreams were consumed by him last night, and she knows what he's truly capable of.

There is so much she could tell him, so much she _wants_ to tell him, but he appears perfectly content to be nothing more than Arthur's manservant.

She purses her lips, still scrutinizing him. Or, more accurately, to be _seen_ as nothing more than Arthur's manservant.

Finished with tending to the fire, Merlin stands, turns around, and brushes off his trousers. "There," he smiles. "I hope that's satisfactory."

"Very," she returns with a smile of her own.

He walks toward the door, apparently content to let the secret between them stay just that.

"Merlin . . ."

He turns at the sound of his name, stopping just inside the door.

_I dreamt of you last night_, she wants to say. _I dreamt of your eyes._

But all that comes out is, "Thank you . . . for the fire." It crosses her mind that she doesn't know which fire she's thanking him for, and that he may not know either.

She swears she sees a hint of gold fleck through Merlin's eyes as he grins.

"Any time, my lady."


	2. Candleburn

A/N: Thanks for the great reviews to the first chapter! Originally, the story was intended to just be a one-shot, but then I started coming up with a few related scenarios, and sometimes I just can't stop until I get things written down, lol. So hopefully you'll enjoy this. I'm planning at least two more chapters.

The title comes from the Dishwalla song. Incidentally, there's a great Merlin/Morgana video set to that song on youtube. :)

This is unbeta-ed, because none of my usual beta-ers watch this show.

* * *

There's one candle burning when she kisses him for the first time.

They're huddled together on a wooden bench, their heads bent over the tome lying open before them. A single candle stands on the table, burned down almost to the nub, its flickering flame lighting the ancient writing as Merlin tries to help her understand. He's so patient with her, and Morgana tries to wrap her head around these new ideas, tries to wrap her tongue around these unfamiliar syllables to please him, to justify the time he spends teaching her, but all she can think about right now is how heavy her eyelids feel.

She's so tired, tired of lying to everyone about what they're really capable of for fear of being burned at the stake. But more than that, she's tired of keeping whatever this is with Merlin a secret. Tired of trying to figure it out even.

He murmurs something about quitting for the night, and his voice is so soft and soothing in the dark night that she could fall asleep right here against his shoulder. Her eyes flutter shut as she inhales his musky scent. He smells like hay and sweat and lavender, and the familiar mixture of aromas comforts her in the bleak night. He dips his head toward her, his breath warm on her cheek, his entire body so close she can feel the heat radiating off him.

"Morgana," he whispers, sliding a hand to the small of her back to check if she's still awake.

The thin film of her nightdress allows her to feel the warmth of his skin, the calluses on his palm, and the touch lights a fire that's lain dormant in her heart. She lifts her gaze to look up into amber eyes ablaze with emotion. The low light throws shadows over his face, illuminates the curve of his ear.

She smiles. She likes his ears. They suit him.

"You're exhausted, it's late," he says quietly. Quirking a tiny smile, he adds, "And the candle's almost gone. Maybe we should stop for the night."

There's so much she aches to say to him. In his presence, there's a wholeness to her. She doesn't feel so fractured, so lost and incomplete. When he's around, the rest of the world seems to melt away. Thoughts of discovery fade from her mind, and all she can think about is the magic shining in his eyes. It's a magic she sees in her dreams, one powerful enough to chase away the chill inside. She dreams of him, and she no longer wakes up terrified, no longer wakes up with screams on her lips.

"I don't want to go," she whispers hesitantly. "With you is the only place I feel safe."

He brushes his knuckles across her cheek, his skin rough yet his touch tender. "Morgana," he breathes again, but the reluctance in his gaze is noticeable.

He lives for these lessons, views these late-night rendezvous as safe havens, just as she does. She can see it in the way he offers her a secret smile when they pass in the corridor, or in the way his ears flush red with embarrassment when their hands accidentally brush as he's pouring her another glass of wine at dinner.

He wears his heart on his sleeve, offering it to her for the taking, and she wants nothing more than to snatch it up and keep it for her own, to hold it safe and secure and away from prying eyes.

Because what they have is too special, too strong to risk sharing it with an ignorant, unforgiving world.

His defenses, usually so solid, crash to the ground under her gaze, and his blue-gold eyes smolder with the desire he's worked so hard to keep hidden. Nervously, he licks his lips, and Morgana can't hold herself back any longer.

She grabs him by his scarf and pulls him toward her, and she's too caught up in the shock of his lips (they're softer and more supple than she expected) to take much notice of how the paltry flame of the candle flares up as he cups her face with his hands and deepens the kiss. She can feel the magic inside her spark to life as it crashes into his, meeting in a dance of passion and chaos. The spark grows until it bursts out of her chest, rushes through her veins, radiates from her fingertips.

She's never felt so _alive_.

He tastes of wine, and evergreen, and freedom, and the discovery is so exhilarating that she slides a hand into his hair, fisting the tendrils into her grasp to pull him flush against her.

She's suddenly glad that she returned to Camelot after finding the Druids all those weeks ago. She'd been afraid that she wouldn't be able to stand keeping a secret this big, that trying to keep it from Gwen, from Arthur, from everyone would make her feel unbearably alone. But then Merlin had smiled at her, and his eyes had glowed sympathetically, and she had understood.

And now, now she can't help but feel like right here is where she _belongs_, in his arms, engraved on his heart.

Merlin breaks away abruptly, drops his hands from her face to sever contact between them.

"I-I'm sorry," he stammers.

"Why?" she whispers. "What do you have to be sorry for?"

He's the only one who can coax a smile out of her when she's in a bad mood, the only one who will listen when she needs to speak, the only one who can keep away the bad dreams.

If his offense is overstepping his station, is she not also to blame?

No, he has nothing to apologize for.

But still he stares at her, his mouth agape like his answer is on the tip of his tongue.

"What is it?" she asks, stroking his cheek.

His brow furrows, and he hesitates before asking, "What if Uther finds out?"

A smile playing over her lips, she replies, "You're worried about this when we're practicing magic right under his nose?"

But there's no mirth in his eyes, and his voice is serious when he says, "I don't want to hurt you, Morgana."

"Merlin . . . you could never hurt me." She can see in his eyes that he's not convinced, that he's still imagining what Uther will do to him – to them – if they're discovered. "I won't let him touch you, Merlin," she insists. She takes his face in her hands, makes him look at her. "If he suspects anything, about this, about us," she says, locking gazes with him, "I'll protect you. I _promise_."

Just like he protects her when it comes to magic.

On the surface, they're an unlikely pair. But all Morgana has to do is slide her hand into his, entwine their fingers, to know how perfectly they fit together. They may be from two different worlds, but they belong in the same one.

Merlin smiles. "And _I_ promise _you_," he tells her before taking his sin again.

Morgana smiles against his kiss, sinking into him and wrapping herself in his warmth.

And in this moment, she dreams that she'll never be cold again.


	3. Fever

A/N: First, I've been really busy with the holiday and prepping for finals, so apologies for not getting back to all the reviews. Thanks, though, to everyone who's reviewed the first two chapters. :)

This chapter's a little different from the first two, but I think it'll fit into the overall arc. Let me know how you like it! It took me a while to settle on the plot, but I'm happy with the end result, especially since tonight's episode has taken away my faith in Morgana and Gwen's friendship.

Again, this chapter's unbeta-ed. I tried to talk one of my "Chuck" beta-ers into reading it, but no luck! :P

* * *

Morgana hates being the last to know something.

It happens all too often, because Uther is too conceited to think she can contribute anything and Arthur is too self-absorbed to realize he often leaves her out of the important things.

This time it's even worse, though, because it's her best friend lying sick with a fever, and she'd been traipsing around the castle all morning like she didn't care. And when she'd finally found out from a servant, she'd raced over to Gaius's study only to be turned away out of concern for her safety.

And when she'd asked after Merlin's whereabouts, the physician had told her that he and the Prince were out in the forest, looking for a special type of root he needed to make the remedy.

She'd nearly lost it when he'd told her. Not being able to help Gwen is bad enough, but having to sit around and wait while Merlin and Arthur ride out in search of the cure is even more unendurable.

Sighing, she looks for their approach from her window, has to squint against the light of the setting sun as she watches them ride in on horseback (Merlin the less self-assured of the two). There's a bag bursting with herbs and roots around his shoulder and a grin on his face, but somehow it doesn't lift her spirits, doesn't banish the feeling of uselessness she's entertained all day.

She turns away from the window and pours herself a glass of wine, needing to find a distraction. Luckily, a short while later, it comes in the form of a knock on her door.

"Come in," she says quietly.

The door opens, and Merlin pokes his head inside. "Hey," he greets with a smile, slipping into the room. "Gaius wanted me to tell you that he's mixing up a remedy for Gwen right now. It'll take a few hours to work, and she should rest for a day afterwards, but she should be better soon. So you shouldn't worry."

"Thank you, Merlin," she replies with a soft smile, warmed by the news and by his presence.

He gazes at her for a moment before asking, "Everything okay?"

"Just worried, that's all. She's going to be all right?"

"Of course," he assures her. "I mean, you haven't . . . dreamt that she wouldn't be all right, have you?"

Morgana shakes her head. "But Gaius won't let me do anything, won't even let me see her. I just . . . hate feeling so useless."

She looks up curiously when he chuckles lightly. Seeing her expression, he shakes his head and says quickly, "You could never be useless, Morgana."

"You sound so certain."

He shrugs. "Some days you just have to bide your time."

Smiling, she slips her hand into his and lets her mind cloud with images of the future. Older, wiser, they can bend earth and time – even people – to their will. They can hold fire in their hands, command the rivers with one thought, change the course of destiny with just a blink.

But right now, in this moment, they're just two small people in a very large world. She sometimes feels like a lost soul, drifting alone at sea, and she's grateful that he's there to anchor her when she drifts too far from familiar shores.

Taking strength in his words, Morgana gathers a handful of fresh chrysanthemums she'd picked earlier and holds them out to him. "Will you give these to her? And tell her I said I hope she's better soon."

Merlin takes the flowers with a smile and a nod. "Of course. And I'll tell her you would visit if it weren't for Gaius's strict rules."

Placing her hand on his, she gives it a squeeze. "Thank you, Merlin."

Still smiling, he kisses her on the forehead before backing toward the door. "I'll be back later to let you know how she is."

"Wait," she requests, keeping his fingers latched in hers as their arms stretch between them. He stops and regards her expectantly. Not quite meeting his eyes, Morgana requests softly, "Take me with you next time."

Merlin laughs. "I wouldn't dream of leaving you behind again." Pulling her close, he slides an arm around her waist and leans in close to whisper in her ear. "Gwen's going to be fine," he reassures her before shooting her a crooked smile and slipping back out into the hallway.

And she _is_ fine.

Two days later, she wakes up to find Gwen opening the curtains, a smile gracing her lips in the morning sunshine. Morgana, grinning broadly, greets her friend with a warm hug.

"I'm so glad you're feeling better," she says.

"Me, too," Gwen laughs merrily. "But look at the state of these curtains! It's a wonder you've gotten along without me the past few days."

"I didn't do so badly," Morgana protests, still smiling.

"No," Gwen agrees, "not half as bad as Arthur will do without Merlin."

She turns back to her work nonchalantly, but the comment freezes the blood in Morgana's veins.

"What do you mean?" she asks, trying to hide the shake in her voice.

Glancing up with a frown, Gwen pauses as she straightens the curtain. "Merlin's ill."

* * *

Outside of Gaius's study, Morgana pauses to catch her breath and calm her racing heart. With a deep breath, she pushes the door open to find the physician reading quietly in the corner and his patient beside him, sleeping somewhat fitfully. Loath to disturb the quiet atmosphere, she lingers in the doorway. Gaius glances up and does a double take before standing up to welcome her, a kind smile on his face.

"Ah, Lady Morgana. How nice to see you," he says as he walks over to her. Adopting a concerned look, he takes her hands in his and adds, "But you shouldn't be here. We don't want you getting ill."

"I don't care. I want to see him," she insists, ignoring his concern for her and looking over his shoulder for a glimpse at Merlin.

Gaius frowns at her, but, seeing the determined look in her eyes, relents with a reluctant sigh. "Five minutes," he says.

"Ten."

Trying to hide a smile, Gaius shakes his head and steps aside to allow her in. "Ten, then," he says, "I must speak to the king anyways, but I'll be back _soon_."

Smiling gratefully at him, Morgana sweeps into the room and over to Merlin's cot. His eyes are closed, his face pale, his hair flattened to his sweaty forehead. She sits gingerly beside him and takes his hand, clammy with fever. He looks so young, so guileless, and her heart twists at the sight. Brushing her fingers across his forehead to push back his bangs, she's alarmed by how much heat radiates from his skin.

"Oh, Merlin," she murmurs, trailing her fingertips down his cheek.

He'll be all right, she knows, between Gaius's expertise and his own sheer force of will. But still, seeing him like this sends a pang through her that she can't ignore. A tear escapes her eye and streaks down her cheek before she can stop it, and, to keep her mind off it, she reaches for a rag lying on a nearby table, dips it in a basin of cool water, and gently wipes the sweat from his forehead.

There are so many things she needs to say to him, so many thoughts spinning about in her head, but she can't find a way to put voice to any of them. Even when she's in no danger of being overheard, even when he can't shoot her that adorable, knowing smile whenever she's close to bearing her heart, she can't tell him how she feels.

She runs a hand down his chest, playing with the folds of his scarf, and leans down to place a soft kiss on his forehead.

Gaius, having returned, clears his throat from the other side of the room, and she straightens. He's regarding her curiously, his eyebrows narrowed, and Morgana feels like the old physician can see straight through her.

"How?" she asks quickly, eager to turn his mind to another subject.

Sighing heavily, Gaius takes a seat on the bench at the table. "I warned him not to sit with her too long," he says, "in case she hadn't fully recovered. But you know Merlin. He insisted on keeping her company, catching her up on everything she'd missed. Next thing I know he was burning up. Honestly, you'd think the boy was missing his brain sometimes."

Morgana lets out a soft, lilting laugh. Despite the harshness of Gaius's words, she knows how fondly he feels about his apprentice. "You love him, Gaius," she insists gently. "Just as I do."

The physician lifts a brow. "Perhaps not _just_ as you do," he retorts, causing a furious blush to rise to Morgana's cheeks. He sighs. "If it were anyone else, Lady Morgana, I would caution you about getting caught. But _you_ are sensible even if _he_ is not, and I believe at least you have an understanding of the consequences of this relationship. Therefore I will only say this." He stops just long enough for her to meet his gaze and continues, "Don't hurt him."

"Gaius," she says softly, "I have no intention of hurting him."

Nodding, he contemplates that before telling her, "Sometimes it is the unintentional wounds that hurt the most."

She swallows, wondering how she could ever explain their bond to him, to anyone really. After grappling for the right words, she finally tells him, "He trusts me, and he means too much to me to ever betray that trust."

"I believe that," Gaius replies. "But I'm afraid that even you and I may not be able to protect him from Uther, especially if he finds out about the two of you."

"Merlin's not exactly the best at keeping things to himself, is he?" she chuckles softly.

Gaius shakes his head, a smile on his face. "I can only take care of him so far, Morgana."

She leans over to place a hand on his arm. "He and I look out for each other. I'll make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. I promise, Gaius."

"And he'll make sure you hold your tongue in front of the king?"

Morgana laughs lightly. "I suppose so."

"As much as I hate to say it, perhaps you two are good for each other." When Morgana grins at the comment, he quickly amends it by saying, "But that doesn't mean you can stay. You've already been here too long already, and we can't have the king's ward coming down with a fever, now can we?"

"Fine," she concedes, reluctantly getting to her feet. "But you'll keep me informed, and tell me when he recovers?"

"Of course," Gaius nods.

She thanks the physician before leaning down to plant a kiss on Merlin's cheek, his skin still warm under her touch. "Goodbye, Gaius," she says as she walks across the room. "Take care of him for me."

She hates leaving him, but staying would only draw suspicion. So she stays away, relying on Gwen to bring any news and pretending that a servant boy's health is not the foremost reason for her present distraction. She hates being forced to go about her daily business as if nothing is wrong, and she feels even more useless than she did when Gwen came down with the strange malady.

But her patience is rewarded two days later when she wakes up to find a single rose in a vase by her bed.

"Gwen?" she calls, sitting up and giving the flower a hearty sniff.

It's beautiful, wild, the kind of vibrant red you can only find in the outlying fields.

Gwen appears from around the corner. "Yes, milady?"

"Did you bring me this?" she asks, indicating the flower.

"No," the handmaiden replies with a shake of her head. Smiling, she adds, "It's gorgeous, though."

A shy smile graces Morgana's lips as she slides out from beneath the covers and floats across room toward the window. She strokes her thumb across the petals as she gazes out the window and into the courtyard below, where Arthur and Merlin, the former in full armor and the latter carrying his master's helmet and sword, are passing through on their way to the practice grounds.

Merlin stops walking, looks up, and, seeing her framed in the window, lifts his hand in an inconspicuous wave.

Morgana inclines her head in recognition and holds up the rose, causing Merlin to split out into a wide grin. They share the smile, the look, until Arthur realizes his servant isn't following and doubles back to smack him upside the head. Merlin, looking properly chastised, shoots her one last look before scurrying after the prince.

Watching him go, Morgana holds the rose up to inhale its heady scent and loses herself in visions of the future, a future full of magic, where she and Merlin no longer have to pretend.


	4. Meteors

A/N: Woo. I'm having way too much fun writing Merlin/Morgana, lol. I do have a few more chapters planned out, but this may be the last one for a while, because finals begin next week and I still have to write a Christmas fic for my other fandom. This is just a bit of fluff, so I hope you enjoy it! Thanks again for all the reviews so far. I appreciate the feedback. :)

* * *

Icy wind nips at Morgana's cheeks as she walks out onto the turret and into the night air. She pulls her cloak tighter about herself to keep out the mid-November chill, but the material doesn't warm her nearly as much as the sight of the man in front of her does. His back to her, he's leaning against the stone railing and gazing out at the kingdom below. He's wearing only his normal brown jacket and scarf, and even his ears are tinged pink with cold. He can't be much warmer than she, but he doesn't seem to feel the bite of winter riding on the wind.

She sidles up next to him and rests her forearms on the low stone wall, and her breath fogs up in front of her as she says, "It's too cold to be out here."

Turning to her, Merlin cocks his head and shoots her a charming grin. "You mean you aren't the least bit curious as to why we're here?" he asks, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Considering it's freezing? No. I'm more interested in when I can return to my nice warm bed."

"Ye of little faith," he teases.

As he gathers her into his arms, heat instantly floods Morgana's body, suffuses her and fills up the gaps in her heart. She sometimes can't tell whether his effect on her is his magic or just _him_, but as she settles against him, she can't help but feel like his arms were made to fit around her.

"Is that better?" he asks softly. Morgana can only nod in response. He chuckles lightly, his breath tickling her ear, and says, "Your birthday's not over."

Smiling, she thinks of tonight's banquet, recalls the glittering chandeliers and the hearty conversation and the scrumptious feast. Nobles from all over the kingdom and beyond had come for the celebration, but all the while she'd been yearning for the man refilling her wine goblet. Well aware of the impropriety of it all, she'd tried to avoid looking his way, smiling at him; and he'd tried to avoid her entirely, with limited success.

"What are you talking about?" she asks teasingly. "I've blown out all my candles, opened all my presents . . ."

"Not _all_ your presents."

"Merlin . . ." She sighs, knowing full-well he can't afford much, let alone a gift fit for the king's ward. She'd told him weeks ago that she didn't want anything, and she'd meant it. She doesn't need trite tokens of his affection; she just needs time with him.

Merlin takes a lock of her hair and curls it around his finger. "Just . . . trust me?" he requests, and his entreaty is so full of charm that she finds it hard to refuse.

"Fine," she huffs playfully.

Grinning, Merlin whispers, "Look up."

"What?" she asks, bewildered, but follows his instructions anyway. Despite being so blustery, the night is cloudless, allowing Morgana a clear view of the twinkling stars. "What am I supposed to be looking at?" she queries softly. "Are you going to teach me the constellations?"

"Er," he stammers, "just wait a moment."

Merlin is tense, waiting for something, but all Morgana can discern is the different constellations winking down at her. She turns to shoot him a quizzical look, and, frustrated, he extricates his arms and frowns up at the sky.

And when he stretches a hand toward the heavens and his eyes glow with gold, she gets a glimpse of the god he was meant to be. She can feel the magic swirling around him like a halo, feel the incredible power emanating from him as he mutters an incantation beneath his breath.

A smile appearing on his lips, he glances at her and says, "Now look."

Craning her neck, Morgana looks up. "Merlin," she sighs, wrapping her cloak more tightly around herself. "I still don't see anything."

"Shh," he admonishes, but can't keep a quiet chuckle from his lips. Reaching up, he points to a cluster of stars in the shape of a warrior and announces triumphantly, "There."

Morgana gasps sharply when she sees it – a vibrant ribbon of fire shooting across the inky sky. As soon as it disappears, another streak of light replaces it, only to be followed by another and yet another. And they continue in brilliant succession, each one seeming to increase in intensity, the sight stealing the breath from her lungs.

Merlin places his hand on the small of her back, and his touch, far from bringing her back to reality, merely serves to send her soaring higher into the clouds. His breath tickles her neck as he asks, "Do you like it?"

"They're magnificent," she breathes, unable to tear her eyes away.

Smiling widely, he rests his chin on her shoulder and slides his arms around her waist to give her a squeeze. "I'm glad." He presses a kiss to her frozen cheek, instantly warming the spot beneath his lips, and whispers, "Happy birthday."

Morgana whips around to face him, taking his face in her hands. "Teach me," she requests softly.

"What?" he asks, bemused.

"Teach me," she repeats, stroking her thumb across his cheek. "Teach me how to control the stars."

Merlin gazes at her, his sea-blue eyes boring into her own emerald ones. "It's your birthday," he finally says, "and this is your gift. No spells on your birthday."

"Why can't it _all_ be my gift?" Pulling her lips into a frown, she adds, "It _is_ my birthday after all . . ."

Merlin shakes his head with a laugh. "No wonder Uther keeps you around. Now if he could only get you to use your powers of persuasion for good," he teases.

"Hush," she says, stopping his mouth with a peck on the lips. "Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?"

"All the time," he grins. He lets her go, locks his fingers, and stretches his arms. "But okay. Are you ready?" Off her nod, he says, "It's simple really. Just concentrate, and repeat after me."

She listens closely as the strange words tumble over his tongue, but Morgana hasn't learned to control forces of nature yet, not like Merlin has. When she tries, the most she can coax out of the sky is a few feeble flashes of light. But then Merlin slides his arm up beside hers. With their hands connected, they murmur the incantation together, and the dark sky erupts in a blaze of light.

Watching the ribbons of light dart across the stars, feeling their powers mingle and mesh and grow, Morgana suddenly feels something settle into place. This – this indefinable _bliss_ – this is what she's been searching for.

She finds it in the stars that hold their destinies, in the comforting feel of his arms around her, in the rush of hope within her chest every time he looks at her.

She finds it in him.

And she belongs by his side.

How many other people in this world can lay claim to such a fate? How many watch the sky in awe right now, marveling at the starry dance? How many fail to recognize the magic pulsing just beneath the surface?

Set apart by their powers, she and Merlin stand alone, away from those who don't understand magic, those who don't wish to. And she's never been happier to not fit in.

Turning in his arms, she grabs his scarf and pulls him down for a deep kiss. Merlin, surprised at first, soon sinks into the kiss and wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her close. She'll never get used to the tingle that runs through her at the touch of his lips, and she never wants to.

"Thank you," she breathes, sliding her arms around his neck.

Dazed, Merlin grins and replies, "You're welcome, my lady . . ."

Morgana frowns. "How many times have I told you to stop call-"

"My love . . ."


	5. Pyre

A/N: As always, thanks for the reviews. :) I know I said the next installment would be a while. Well . . . I forgot about my amazing procrastination skills, lol. And the next chapter is pretty much written, so I should be able to post it fairly soon. Still not sure how long this is going to be though . . . maybe nine chapters? What do you think?

* * *

High above the castle square, Morgana stands – shoulders back, chin raised – a statue of defiance. Though she refuses to look, she can hear the commotion from below. An uneasy murmur runs through the crowd, low enough that the crackling of fire is audible over the rumble.

She can smell it, too. The acrid smoke drifts up even to this height, burning her eyes and choking the air from her lungs.

This isn't how it's supposed to go.

People like her deserve to _live_, deserve to be celebrated. They shouldn't be hunted down and caged like animals.

A rush of rage swells within her, and she can feel the angry tingle of magic in her fingertips. Distractedly, she holds her hand out and whispers an incantation. A tiny flame materializes just above her palm, dancing as she waggles her fingers. She's being careless, and Merlin would almost certainly disapprove. She can even imagine the worried frown that would undoubtedly stretch over his lips.

"I've been looking all over for you."

Without turning, Morgana closes her fist to extinguish the flame and drops her arm with a sigh. Merlin sidles up next to her, close enough that she can inhale his familiar, earthy scent.

She clenches her fist and takes a deep breath, finally looking out upon the city. A substantial crowd is gathered around the pyre, gazing in wide-eyed curiosity at the 'witch.' Uther stands on the balcony a distance away, observing the proceedings impassively, and Arthur, a frown gracing his features, stands a few feet behind.

The sight of it all turns her stomach.

But there are so many spells within her grasp, and she doesn't know how much longer she can contain the flood.

"I could end this right now, you know," she says quietly, and he nods. "I could call lightning from the sky, or beasts from the forests, or simply stop their hearts where they stand."

"And what would the point be?"

His voice is sad, almost resigned. She feels so cut-off from people, from her friends, that she sometimes forgets that he's been dealing with this his entire life.

Turning to look at him, she drinks him in – his tousled hair; his dark expression; his azure eyes, almost as blue as the sky today. All of that is hers unreservedly, and the realization warms her heart. But if she could love him unreservedly, in full view of the court, without apologizing for who they are, she would feel as if she held the world in the palm of her hand.

And how invincible – how unconquerable and unassailable and _untouchable_ – would they be if they no longer had to deny their true natures?

"You and I could be _gods_," she whispers fiercely.

He leans forward, close enough for her to see the fear shining in his eyes. He's scared of her, and the alarm on his face sends a tremble of regret through her heart.

"To what end, Morgana?" he asks gently. "Gods are protectors, and we'd have no one left to care for, no one left to care for us . . ."

She turns her gaze back to the square below, feeling the fury within her breast dissipate as he slips his hand into hers. "No," she concurs softly, squeezing his fingers, "but I'd have you."

He presses his lips to her temple. "And you will always have me, but this is not the way."

Morgana sighs, closes her eyes to shut out the world, feeling her hair flutter in the breeze. Only Merlin can calm her like this; only he can make her forget the hooks in her heart that amplify her lust for revenge. And his hand in hers is the only thing keeping her tied to reality.

"I shouldn't have to be ashamed, Merlin," she tells him shakily. "I shouldn't have to walk around hiding who I am."

"Look at me," he urges softly, cupping her face between his strong, slender hands.

When she looks up into those patient eyes, so full of empathy, she understands how badly she'd misinterpreted. He's not scared _of_ her. He's scared _for_ her, scared for _them_.

"You are an amazing woman, more amazing than you realize, I think," he whispers, brushing his thumb across the curve of her cheek. "And I know it's hard for you to stifle what it is in your heart, Morgana, but think of the consequences." He sighs, rests his forehead against hers. "I don't want to try to live without you. Please don't make me."

Morgana's face crumples as she contemplates the future he's seeing. She tangles her fingers in his hair. "Merlin," she murmurs, "forgive me. I promised to protect you from the king, and instead I've been reckless."

"This is not forever," he promises. "There will come a day when magic is seen for what it truly is – a force of good."

"And if it does not come in our lifetime?"

Merlin presses a brief kiss to her lips. "It will, even if we have to live forever. You can't run from destiny. And whether it comes tomorrow or a thousand tomorrows from now, it _will_ come. Be patient."

And he quirks a tiny smile at her, because they both know patience is not one of her virtues.

She returns the gesture, unable to stay upset when faced with that smile. "And what am I supposed to do until then?" she asks quietly, laying one hand against his chest and curling her other in his hair.

"Be with me," he breathes. "Hold my hand, take walks in the forest with me, laugh at my clumsiness, just . . . don't shut me out, Morgana."

Lifting herself onto her tiptoes, she brushes her lips over his. "I promise."

"We protect each other, remember?"

"I remember," she nods.

"Good," he smiles as he tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.

With a sigh, Morgana pulls away from him and sinks down onto the stone floor, her back against the wall. She tugs on his trousers to pull him down beside her, and they sit with their shoulders touching and their hands latched, nestled together in their own private refuge.

Here, beside him, she can block out the execution below, because all she can see is the brilliant blue of the sky above, and all she can feel is the whisper of Merlin's magic running through her.

And for a while, Morgana allows herself to experience tranquility.


	6. Sunrise

A/N: Well, I'm pretty full of conflicting emotions regarding the latest episode. The only thing I'm fairly certain of is that we won't be getting any Morgana/Merlin cuteness, which saddens me. Even so, even if this is going to end up extremely AU, I'm going to continue this, because I just can't imagine these two _not _being drawn to one another. That being said, this is going to get a bit angsty from here on out. However, I am planning a companion story, which will be from Merlin's perspective and more light-hearted. :)

Thanks again for the reviews. I just finished a beast of a final paper, so I'm going to post this and go _sleep_. :P

* * *

Morgana drags herself sluggishly up the stone steps of the castle's main entrance, her chain mail weighing heavily on her shoulders, the flat of her sword bouncing at her side, _thwapp_-ing against her leg. A chill snakes its way under her skin and into her bones, raising goose bumps on her arm. The night has been long, almost unbearably so, but she can see the sun poking its head over the horizon, sending vibrant streaks of orange and red through the clouds, and the sight renews her strength.

Perhaps the world is not so bleak after all.

And then she looks up, sees his outline at the window, and pauses mid-step, a frown gracing her delicate features.

She doesn't even have to see his face to know how upset he is.

With a heavy sigh, she pulls her aching muscles up the last few steps and into the castle. She considers avoiding her room – avoiding _him_ – but there's no point. He would only find her later, and, even though he wouldn't yell at her, it would be impossible to ignore the disappointment shining in his eyes.

She hates disappointing him.

Slowly, she climbs the stairway toward her chambers. Hesitating in the doorway, she leans against the heavy wooden frame for support. He's at the window, framed by the fiery light bleeding in from the rising sun. The sight of the early morning rays glinting off his dark hair brings a smile to her face.

As she gazes at him, something blooms within her heart, something dangerously akin to love, though she'd never admit that to anyone, least of all to him.

"Merlin," she murmurs, and, though her chinking chainmail had to have given away her presence much sooner, he turns at the sound of his name.

He's livid; she can tell just by his rigid posture and by the nigh-imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth.

But she won't back down. She may be a woman, but she's not a child, and she won't stand to be constantly looked after, constantly coddled. She and Gwen had nearly single-handedly rescued the crown prince (and thereby saved the kingdom). Why can't he see her triumph instead of looking past her battle scars, instead of seeing the vulnerable girl who plays dress up in order to earn the respect of people she despises?

He gazes sadly at her, his eyes burning with a worry she's not used to inducing. She opens her mouth, suddenly desiring to provide an explanation, to apologize for bringing him pain, but fumbles for the words. Before she can say anything, though, Merlin crosses the room in three strides and grasps the sides of her face, his kiss eager but gentle.

Taken off guard, Morgana staggers. But his fingers on her cheeks, his tongue sliding over hers, bring her back to reality, and she grabs fistfuls of his woolen shirt, yanking him against her.

When they break apart, her chest is heaving with an unbridled longing, and she can feel the pounding of his heart beneath her palm.

Merlin rests his forehead against hers and tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Are you hurt?" he asks softly.

She smiles at his concern, so much different from anyone else's, like he knows she can protect herself, knows she strives to, but can't quite keep himself from trying to look after her.

She plants a brief kiss on his lips and answers, "I'm fine."

Merlin regards her with an incredulous frown. Apparently choosing his battles, he pulls away and offers, "Let me help you with your armor."

She nods, takes a step back from him, and unbuckles her scabbard. When she holds it out to him, he takes it without a word and lays it on the table. Her sword will need to be cleaned, but that can wait.

"You know," he begins with a shy smile, "you're the only woman I know who can look beautiful in armor." She quirks an eyebrow at him, and he quickly amends it with, "And scary. You're definitely very scary. Wouldn't want to meet you in battle."

She rolls her eyes with a chuckle and says, "Just help me get out of this."

Tenderly, he slides his hands under the chainmail tunic to help lift it over her head. Morgana, grateful to be rid of the weight, sighs and lets her shoulders slump, but Merlin is frozen in front of her, staring at her neck. She looks down, flushes when she sees the scarf she's stolen from him.

"Huh," he smiles, "so that's where that went."

She swallows nervously, wondering how much he's going to tease her about it. Luckily, he just sets the chainmail next to her sword and turns around to take her hand, a knowing smile on his face all the while. Grinning, she guides him toward the bed and pulls him down onto the soft mattress.

Later, when the sun's fully risen and they lie wrapped together under feather-soft sheets, he buries his head into the crook of her neck and whispers words no man – suitor or servant – has ever said to her. But, for some reason – maybe it's the fact that she faced eight armed brigands alone at one point last night and yet she's here to tell about it – the only thing she can think about is how wasted his torso feels beneath her palm. She's not even pressing hard and yet she can feel his ribs, the bones jutting against her splayed fingers.

"What's Gaius been feeding you?" she murmurs. "You're thinner than I am."

"Maybe if you wouldn't keep me so worried all the time . . ." he teases, his lips brushing over her ear.

Running a hand through his sleek dark hair, she meets his playful smile with a frown. Usually _he_'s the one who has to cajole _her_ into being serious.

"Fine. You want me to be serious?" he asks softly. Morgana nods, and he props himself up by an elbow and reaches out to stroke her hair. Setting his jaw, he says, "Then here's a serious question: Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you take me with you?"

Morgana rolls over onto his chest, her weight pushing him down against the mattress. Her loose hair flutters in waves against his bare skin, and he curls a tendril around his finger distractedly.

"The King would have noticed if you weren't in the rescue party," she tells him. "The prince's manservant not showing up to save the prince? I'm sure you were a great help on the _official_ rescue mission."

"They didn't really need my help since you and Gwen got there first," he jokes quietly. His voice more sober, he says, "But I don't care. I should have been with you. I could have . . . protected you."

"Merlin . . . you can't protect me forever." She's seen it now, knows their story doesn't last forever, doesn't end happily ever after.

"Doesn't mean I can't try, does it?" he asks cheekily, drawing a much-needed smile from her lips. Reaching up to cup her face, gently stroking her cheek with his thumb, he adds, "Besides, I'd rather have _you_ at my back than any of Arthur's soldiers."

She traces a finger across a scar on his shoulder. He'd gotten it months ago, an accident in the kitchens. Smiling, she leans down and presses a kiss to the thin line of raised flesh. "I could have protected you from this," she whispers. Kissing the fresh purple bruise on his jaw, she says, "And this." She slides her hand over his bare chest, over his heart, where a dull, pulsating ache she's all too familiar with resides, and murmurs against his lips, "And I'll protect you from this."

It's a lie – she can't shield him from the heartache – but it's a lie they both need right now.

He tilts his chin to meet her lips, and somehow his touch always lets her forget about the chaos and impermanence around them. It lets her hope that what they have might be more than just blazing and ephemeral, might actually be that lasting kind of love she's longed for.

Somehow, he's wormed his way under her skin, and she's stood by and allowed it. Even if this doesn't last, he's taken up permanent residence inside her heart, and, when the end comes and she's left with nights full of coldness and sorrow, she'll hang on to that.

She'll hang on to this memory.

But for right now, she deepens the kiss and pretends that this is good enough for her.


	7. Battlefield

A/N: Sorry for the delay. Finals were crazy, and then my laptop fizzled out on me for a few days, lol. This is a tad rough, and it's definitely veered into AU territory (with last weekend's episode), but I still hope you enjoy it. There are going to be three more chapters after this.

* * *

It's summer when Uther falls, a drought season, and the fields are brown and dry, the grass dead beneath their boots.

Camelot is in flames.

The enemy is pushing them back farther and farther with each passing moment, and still Arthur, his father's death leading him furiously onward, refuses to call the retreat.

Morgana, her back to Merlin, fights off a burly knight, thrusting her sword in between his plate armor and into the soft flesh of his stomach. Her blade comes out smoothly, smeared in yet another coat of blood, and she feels a disturbing sense of satisfaction as the enemy falls to the ground. She senses more than physically feels Merlin's presence behind her as she fights off another oncoming knight, slamming the handle of her sword into her attacker's chin and letting out a sharp grunt as he drops with a groan.

Breathing heavily, Morgana pauses to survey the field. Though it is nighttime, the field is lit up with flames that reach toward the sky and illuminate the bloody battle around them.

Her heart has never felt so heavy.

Merlin places a gauntleted hand on her forearm. "Morgana," he says, raising his voice over the angry clash of metal-on-metal and the sickening squish of metal-in-flesh, "Arthur."

It's all he needs to say for her to follow his gaze across the field, where the man who came into this battle as the crown prince is now fighting ferociously, his eyes wild with pain, a roar exploding from his chest as he launches himself at the enemy.

Morgana nods, and the two rush headlong toward the fray, dodging around and jumping over fallen knights along the way. But the faster they run, the more she feels as if the field in front of them is stretching onward to eternity. The swifter her feet pound against the dead grass, the farther away Arthur seems, the more out of reach in his infinite rage.

In just a blink, her world rocks off-axis as Merlin hurtles to the ground with a strangled cry.

"Merlin!"

Abandoning her quest to reach Arthur, Morgana skids to a halt, doubles back, and throws herself onto her knees at Merlin's side. There's an arrow shaft protruding nastily from his shoulder, just beside his collarbone, and he's trying to sit up, clutching at his shoulder and grimacing in agony.

"Merlin," she chokes out as she leans over him to cradle his face.

Looking up at her, pain clouding his blue eyes, he croaks, "Arthur."

"No," she says vehemently, knowing what he's thinking, knowing him better than she knows herself sometimes. "Arthur can take care of himself. We have to get you to Gaius."

Merlin shakes his head, closing his eyes at the pain. He grasps at her wrist, and she suddenly becomes aware of the blood smeared on her hands, his armor, his face. It's _everywhere_.

"Arthur mustn't continue to fight," he says, his voice shaking as he struggles to draw breath. "If he does, he won't last through this battle. And he won't fulfill his destiny."

She wants to curse destiny, to raise her eyes to the heavens and damn it for what it's doing to them. But there's no way she's going to let him down, not when she's the only one he trusts. They stand side-by-side through it all, and right now is no different.

Setting her jaw, Morgana asks, "What can we do?"

"We need to stop the battle."

She shakes her head. There's determination in his eyes, but can't he see how futile such a desire is? "Merlin . . ."

"No," he stops her before she can protest any further, "I have an idea."

She bites her lip, staring down at him. The flames around them illuminate his face, throwing his cheekbones into relief. Her hands clamped on his chest, she murmurs, "But you've been _shot_."

Merlin offers her a shaky smile, and for a split second she wants to slap him for his audacity. "Well, just take the arrow out, then," he tells her impatiently. "We need to end this, and there isn't much time."

She starts to shake her head again, not wanting to do this (because she's seen injuries on the battlefield, and they're never pleasant), but he just looks up at her pleadingly, and she finds that she can't deny him anything. Letting out a low grumble, she takes him by the shoulders and drags him a few feet behind the cover of a tree.

He clenches his teeth to stifle a cry as she leans him up against the tree trunk. "Could you be a little gentler, Morgana?"

She smirks a little wickedly. "Serves you right for getting yourself shot."

"You are _mean_," he tells her matter-of-factly, sticking his tongue out.

Despite the situation, her smile grows as she takes off a gauntlet and pulls the scarf, one of his, from beneath her chainmail. She picks up a stick lying nearby on the ground and holds it up to his mouth. "Here," she says, "bite this."

Merlin complies, taking the stick between his teeth.

"You ready?" she asks.

Nodding, he clamps his jaws down on the stick. She wraps a hand around the arrow shaft, flexing her fingers hesitantly. Casting a glance at him, she takes a deep breath before yanking the arrow out, and he screams out in anguish, the sound deadened by his clenched teeth. He spits the stick out, squeezes his eyes shut, and breathes in deeply through his nose.

Morgana takes advantage of his distraction to bind his wound with the scarf, which quickly stains with his blood. She'll need to get him to Gaius soon, before he loses too much blood.

Merlin, gasping, licks his cracked lips and looks up at her. "Thank you," he breathes before struggling into a sitting position. "We need to get to high ground."

Nodding, she helps him onto his feet and slides an arm beneath his good shoulder, and they stagger up the hillside. Merlin collapses onto his knees once they reach the top, his fingertips brushing over the dry grass as he holds his injured arm stiffly to his side. Morgana's breath catches in her throat as she turns her gaze to the carnage in the valley. The fires are blazing high and bright, lighting up the bodies littered across the field.

"Morgana."

Tearing her eyes away at the sound of his voice, she kneels down facing him. The intensity in his eyes nearly overwhelms her, but then he grasps one of her hands, squeezes her fingers tight, and reassurance rushes through her veins.

"A storm," he says, and she nods, trusting his judgment.

Magic flows from their lips as, together, they turn their eyes to the sky and whisper fierce words of terror and promise. At once, the nighttime clouds begin to darken and gather above their heads. Morgana feels the first gentle drop on her forehead before the clouds open up and angrily pour sheets of rain down upon them. The rain falls down, soaks through the gaps in her armor and into her bones. Within a mere moment, the storm is strong enough to quench the fires on the field. The enemy, confused and scattered, beats a hasty retreat through the thickening mud.

Morgana catches a glimpse of Merlin's amber eyes in the flashes of lightning, feels the pulse of his magic race through her. But she can see the exhaustion in his eyes. She can feel it through the link he's created.

He's weakening, the spell sapping his already-fragile strength.

She wants to reach out to him, wants to stroke the bangs back from his sweaty forehead and promise that it's going to be all right, but the energy it takes to keep the storm going is too much. The fatigue seeps into the hollows of her chest cavity, darting in through the cracks in her defenses like a thief.

She takes one last look at Merlin's eyes, blazing gold through the dark rain, before the world goes black.

* * *

The first thing she notices upon waking up is the light scent of fresh linen.

"Gwen?" she calls, burying her nose into the plush pillow.

"I'm here, my lady," comes the reply from across the room.

Morgana groans, the sound muffled in the sheets. She wishes Gwen would stop calling her that. After all, the girl is going to be _Queen_ someday.

"What happened?" she mutters.

Gwen, now sitting on the bed, places a gentle hand on her shoulder, and Morgana finally opens her eyes to see the handmaiden's face full of unspeakable sorrow. She sits up in alarm.

"Gwen, what is it?"

Gwen takes a deep breath. "You and Merlin . . . on the battlefield."

The previous night comes flooding back to Morgana. "Merlin?" she gasps. "Is he all right?"

"He's fine, my lady. Gaius fixed him right up," Gwen assures her, gesturing for her to lie back down. She meets Morgana's gaze. "But everyone knows now."

Swallowing, Morgana runs a hand through her hair. "We did what we had to do, Gwen, to save Arthur. To save Camelot."

"You never told anyone," she shakes her head. "You never told _me_."

Morgana's heart shatters at the look in her friend's eye. "Gwen," she says quietly, "we never wanted to hurt you. If only we knew . . . only we could get in trouble." She places a hand on Gwen's shoulder. "We knew how you felt about magic."

Gwen nods, breathing deeply to hold back tears. "But now Arthur knows."

She doesn't have to say anything else. Morgana can see how this is going to end. "Oh, Gwen," she says, pulling her friend into a tight hug.

"I've tried to talk to him," the handmaiden explains, "but he won't listen. He's too stubborn."

"His father just died, Gwen. He will come around."

Gwen pulls back from the embrace to look into Morgana's eyes. "Will he come around before he banishes you and Merlin?"

Heaviness settles inside Morgana's chest at the question. "He means to banish us?"

Gwen nods, tears now streaking quietly her cheeks. "At first he wanted to . . . to condemn you as sorcerers."

Morgana, managing a smile, strokes her friend's cheek. "I bet you managed to remind him that we'd just saved his life."

"Oh, Morgana," Gwen sobs. "I'm so sorry."

"Hush, now," Morgana whispers. She pulls Gwen into another hug, acutely aware that this may be their last embrace. And she holds her tightly, loath to let go of this friendship.

* * *

It doesn't happen like she expects – there's no rage, no thunder, just a quiet, sorrowful dismissal. Arthur avoids their eyes for fear of his heart breaking, and, when they leave, the castle gates close behind them with a definitive _bang_. Merlin looks back, his eyes full of grief, but she offers no backward glance.

Banished.

There is no going back, so why dwell on what cannot be?

It's not until they're deep into the forest, their horses trotting along the northward path, the sunlight dappling through the tree cover, that Morgana recognizes the foreign emotion bubbling up in her chest.

_Freedom_.


	8. Hearth

A/N: Happy holidays to everyone! However, this isn't a holiday piece, and I do believe an angst warning would be appropriate for this chapter. As always, thanks for the reviews. :)

Big thanks to **MySoapBox **for beta-ing the chapter.

* * *

Morgana doesn't look up from the shirt she's washing as Merlin walks through the door, dripping wet from the rain outside, his arms full of firewood. He shoots her a grin and trudges over to kneel by the hearth, where a fire is blazing. He sets his burden down before standing up and walking over to her, leaving a trail of water droplets on the wooden floor.

Morgana, a gloom weighing over her, pointedly ignores him when he wraps his arms around her waist and presses a soft kiss to her neck. As much as she tries to overlook it, his presence lights a fire in her, threatens to make her forget her recent bad dreams and the inevitable, miserable conclusion to their time together.

And she'd be more than happy to lose herself in him and forget everything else.

"The storm will last through the day," he informs her, "and probably through the night."

She swallows, and tries to disregard the tingle his touch sends through her. His clothes are wet, the water from them seeping into hers, but he is warm. So blessedly warm. Merely his presence is enough to dispel the chill in her bones. She pauses in her work and closes her eyes against his touch.

"Good," she says quietly. "The rain will be good for the garden."

Sighing, Merlin rests his chin on her shoulder and asks, "What's the matter?"

She returns her attention to her task, dragging the shirt in her hands across the washboard. "Nothing."

He frowns and buries his face in her shoulder. The shudder that runs through her has nothing to do with her damp clothing and everything to do with the frustration radiating off of him.

"Then why won't you talk to me?" he asks, his words muffled against her wool tunic.

"There is much to do today," she sighs, "and I am already tired."

Immediately, he releases her from his embrace, walks to the side of the table, and gently takes the shirt from her hands. "Then you must rest," he tells her. "I'll finish the washing."

In spite of her melancholy mood, Morgana can't stop the smirk that comes to her lips. "You'll just use magic," she accuses lightly.

He laughs. "And what of it? This is our home. We can do as we please."

_Home_.

This tiny, makeshift cabin has become more than just a place of shelter. It's become their _home_. She belongs here, with him, and she hasn't felt like that since before her father died and Uther took her in.

In the months they've been away from Camelot, they've carved out a life for themselves here, and she's come to cherish it. She enjoys the daily chores, enjoys the hard – sometimes backbreaking – work, because it means she gets to curl up in bed with him each night, and wake to his face each morning. Each ache in her back, each callous on her hands means she is at liberty to do as she wishes.

That freedom is more precious to her than the breath within her lungs.

"Yes," she murmurs as she watches him take over the wash basin, "I suppose we can."

He frowns in concentration as he wrings out the shirt, the excess water falling back into the basin with a reassuring, melodic trickle. He looks up to catch her staring and quirks a smile. "What?"

"You're soaked."

He looks down at his dripping clothes. "So it appears."

She crosses her arms and says, "You should change into something dry before you catch your death."

Merlin, a grin on his face, takes a step toward her. "You know how clumsy I am. I may need some help with the whole 'undressing' process."

"Indeed?" she queries, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

Nodding, he moves closer to wrap his arms around her waist and buries his head against her shoulder. "And it seems like you're quite damp as well," he murmurs, his lips brushing against her neck.

Morgana chuckles and curls her fingers into his hair. She gasps softly as he slips his hands beneath her shirt, his palms warm against her bare skin. "It is all your fault that I am wet."

He lifts his head to look at her, his eyes twinkling. "Then I sincerely apologize, my lady. Do allow me to remedy the situation."

A laugh barely escapes Morgana's lips before he claims them with his own. Before long, the washing is forgotten in favor of the smooth feel of his skin, the salty taste of his tongue, the comforting collision of magic.

* * *

Morgana hugs the sheet closer to her as she watches Merlin wrap a blanket around his waist and walk across the room to throw another log on the fire. The job done, he slides back under the covers and sidles up against her.

"Mmm," he murmurs into her hair, "rainy days are the _best_."

Tracing circles on his chest, she lets out a soft laugh. She loves their life here. She loves being able to do anything they please, loves toiling by his side to eke out an existence. She loves going out into the garden, breathing in the fresh air, and knowing that she may do anything she wants to. She doesn't have to report to Uther or be on her best behavior for the kingdom.

She's just Morgana, and he's just Merlin, and they're _them_.

She closes her eyes, terrified of the loss tomorrow will bring, terrified that the end she secretly dreads will come sooner rather than later.

Terrified that she will wake to find him gone.

But fate runs its course, racing on toward its unavoidable close, and she is powerless to stop it.

"Hey," he says quietly. "Why do you frown? It is a _good day_, Morgana."

His enthusiasm would be infectious if it were for any other reason. But the event has been haunting her ever since she dreamt about it a few weeks ago. He doesn't understand how it will tear them apart, and all she wants to do is to savor each moment with him.

Merlin squeezes her torso, plants a light kiss on her jaw, and says, "Jem passed by on his way to the village this morning. Do you know what he told me?"

She tangles her fingers into his dark locks, runs her thumb across his temple. He closes his eyes at the touch, sighing contentedly.

"Merlin," she whispers as she reaches up to kiss him.

He lifts his head to regard her apprehensively. "You already know, don't you?"

"Know what?" she asks quietly, holding his gaze.

"The king is lately married." When she doesn't react, he drops his head to her neck and queries, "Why didn't you tell me, Morgana?"

She pulls him back down beside her onto the pillow. Looking into his eyes, she cups his face in her palm. "I didn't know it would happen so soon. I didn't want to raise your hopes."

Or crush her own.

"But we know for sure that it's happened now," he smiles, laying his hand over hers. "And now we have a chance to return."

"Don't you like it here?"

Touching his forehead to hers, he says, "I don't care where we are, Morgana, as long as we're together. You know that. But . . ." He trails off, his lips pursed.

"Destiny," she finishes for him.

Merlin, running a hand through her dark tresses, insists, "Arthur will be great king."

"But only if you are by his side."

He squeezes his eyes shut and furrows his brow. "You know, then, why I must _try_."

She does. "Gwen will be a fair queen," she tells him reluctantly. Swallowing thickly, she caresses his face and says, "If you return, she will plead a case for magic."

"And Arthur listens to her," he explains, his blue eyes shining with hope now. "If we go back, he will let us stay. I know he will."

She closes her eyes so she doesn't have to face the anticipation radiating from him and whispers, "He will make you court sorcerer."

A smile springs to his lips, but it quickly fades. "Morgana, what's the matter?"

Exhaling shakily, she confesses, "I cannot go with you."

Eyebrows drawn, he shakes his head, and his voice is trembling when he says, "I don't understand."

Her thumb runs along the hollow of his cheek, sunken from so many years of servitude. But those gaunt cheeks, those blazing blue eyes and those big, clumsy ears . . . they're all _hers_. And she's not ready to give them up just yet.

"Merlin . . . I don't belong there."

He frowns and slides a hand to her neck. "How can you say that? You belong with _me_."

"But I cannot go back. I've learned so much living out here, and I cannot give that up." His confusion is evident, so she continues, "Don't you see? In the castle, I was caged. If I went back, I would be forced to give up my very self."

"And here you are free," he says, completing the thought for her.

Morgana nods. "You cannot ask me to return to a life in which I had no choice."

"But don't _you_ see?" he asks desperately, turning her words around. "It will be different. Arthur is King now. We can _make_ it different."

"_Arthur_," she replies just as desperately, "_banished_ us. He broke my trust the moment he refused to accept me for who I am, the moment he shut the castle gates on us. You saved his life countless times, and he thanks you by throwing you out of the kingdom? No, Merlin, I cannot go back."

Regarding her sadly, he swallows and asks, "Even if I am by your side?"

Choking back the lump in her throat, she strokes his face. "It is just the two of us here. I fear . . . I fear that what we have will not – cannot – last in such surroundings."

"We made it last before," he argues quietly, his forehead creased in disappointment.

"When you were but a servant. Should you return, though, you would be court sorcerer, advisor to the king, and I . . ."

"You would still be a member of the royal family," he protests, "and if I were an advisor, there would be nothing between us. We could _be together_."

"You will have duties, responsibilities. Arthur will need protecting."

Merlin narrows his gaze at her, the pain full and clear in his eyes, and she nearly breaks under the look. "Why are you doing this?" he whispers, his voice tormented.

"Because we cannot have it all, no matter how hard we wish it."

"We could," he disagrees. "If you would just _try_, Morgana, I know we could."

Softly, she tells him, "You forget, I think, that there are things beyond ourselves, that sometimes we must sacrifice what we hold dear in order to serve a greater purpose."

"Then you ask me to choose between you and my destiny?" he queries harshly, refusing to make this easy on her.

Burying her face against his chest, she sighs. She's always known that, somehow, destiny would be the death of them. She's known that, however strongly they were drawn to one another, they were never meant to be together. But she's spent so long trying to fight it, and she can no longer ignore the fact that fate is pulling them in different directions.

He belongs by Arthur's side – leading him, guiding him, saving him – and her fate lies along a different path. Her dreams have been warning her for weeks, but she can see plainly now that, in order to save Camelot, she must give him up.

"Are you not asking the same of me?" she breathes.

He sits up abruptly and turns away from her, his face contorted in anguish. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, burying his head in his hands. Holding the sheet around her, Morgana sits up as well. With the tears threatening to spill, she rests a hand on his shoulder.

"Merlin . . ." she says softly, "you've always told me that one cannot change destiny. One cannot run from it."

He takes a deep breath and chokes out, "I always thought you'd be with me, though. That your destiny was linked to mine."

"Perhaps it still is," she replies comfortingly, though she knows the truth.

Merlin, his eyes shining with unshed tears, shifts to look at her. "I will come back," he promises, taking her hand in his and squeezing it gently.

She nods, threading her fingers into his hair. "And I will wait for you," she whispers, leaning forward to brush a kiss across his lips.

But Merlin refuses to let her go so easily, wrapping his arms about her to pull her flush against him. She can taste the salty tears spilling down his cheeks, feel the sorrow emanating from him.

Everything – the storm, the daily chores, even supper – it is all tossed aside due to an urgent, futile need to memorize each other before the dawn. Through it all, she lies to him, murmurs to him of a future that cannot be, and she lets him make promises he will be unable to keep.

And when morning comes, Morgana feels him press a kiss to her forehead and hears him whisper words of apology and assurance before he slips out into the muted, early morning light. She lets him swear to her, lets him go, and for a while, she deludes herself into believing that the world isn't ending, and her heart isn't breaking.


	9. Sunset

A/N: Happy New Year's! Just one more chapter to go! As always, thanks for reading and reviewing. It's great to hear what you think of the story.

Big thanks to **MySoapBox** for the beta. :)

Okay, so I got this back from my beta, cleaned up a section, and then posted it quickly before my family came over for New Year's. In my haste, I forgot to warn you that it completely throws the traditional legend out the window, lol. So consider yourself warned. :)

* * *

A woman stands by a lake.

It is autumn, and the sun is dipping close to the horizon, sending splashes of red and orange across the blue water. She is older, her dark hair streaked with gray at the temples, and there are lines around her eyes from what she has seen in her lifetime. There is a sadness inherent in her bearing that nothing can erase.

A wooden boat lies at her feet.

The boat is filled with dried grasses and flowers, on top of which lays a body – the arms crossed, the brow smooth, the unseeing eyes closed.

She kneels beside the boat, her face crumpling in sorrow, and runs a hand over his face, his skin cold and waxy beneath her touch. Her wavy hair falls against her pallid cheeks, and tendrils stick to the cascading tears.

If only he had known how much she loved him – loves him still. If only she had trusted him more.

A rustling sound catches her attention. She stands and turns to squint toward the trees. Her brow clears as a figure emerges into the clearing. His hair is still as fair as when he was born, but his eyes are empty, and his shoulders sag with a burden he's been carrying for decades now.

After tethering his horse to a tree, he holds up his hands, palms facing her. "I'm unarmed," he announces as he walks closer, "and alone."

Returning her melancholy gaze to the lake, she allows him to join her on the bank. He stands on the opposite side of the boat, his eyes trained on the calm water.

"It has been many years, Morgana," Arthur says, his voice but a whisper on the breeze. "Too many."

Heaving a sigh, he lowers himself to one knee. His brow creases with grief as he stretches out a hand to rest it on his friend's chest.

"Thank you," she murmurs, "for allowing me this."

Merlin had been the king's right-hand man until the end. No matter which side he had been on, he'd born himself like a hero, and he deserves a hero's burial, with the entirety of Camelot looking on. Camelot's people deserve to know what he's done for them. But Arthur – maybe out of his innate goodness, maybe out of a lingering fondness for his foster sister – has given her this, a private funeral where she can say goodbye in her own way. A public memorial held in the kingdom would have prevented that.

Arthur rises. He hooks a thumb into his belt and says, "After all he's done for me, it's the least I can do for him."

Morgana's lips twitch upwards into an imperceptible smile at the suggestion that he had wanted this, wanted to be with her at the very end. She swallows. "Did he know?" she asks softly. "That I loved him?"

"Of course he did," Arthur tells her, and the quickness of his reply surprises her. He turns to her. "I think, at first, he tried to convince himself that you didn't, to make it easier. But, deep down, yeah. He knew it."

She looks down at Merlin's face, so peaceful, so still. "This is all my fault," she breathes. She had lost faith in him, in them, and had allowed fate to dictate her life.

Setting his jaw, Arthur grasps her wrist. "You cannot blame yourself," he says emphatically.

Morgana finally looks him in the eye. "I can," she insists shakily, "because I didn't believe. I didn't believe in us, and I followed destiny blindly, and this is where it has led."

"No, Morgana," he shakes his head, "this is all . . . this is all just bigger than us, bigger than anything we can try to control. Even for Merlin." He pauses. "Even for _you_."

Morgana turns her head. Arthur had employed him as an advisor, but did he even have an inkling as to the depth of Merlin's power? Perhaps if they had truly tried, the combination of their power could have stopped time, allowed them a few more precious moments together.

He lets out a breath, lets out the tension in his shoulders as he turns back to the water and sweeps his gaze over the lake. "Why did you join forces with Mordred?"

The question catches her off-guard. It's over, has been from the moment Merlin was struck down, and she'd thought Arthur would have wanted to keep the past behind them.

But Arthur Pendragon has always surpassed her expectations in one way or another.

She crosses her arms and sighs. "He was family. Or at least the closest thing I could find to it after I let Merlin go."

Mirroring her posture, Arthur frowns. "And when you joined him in attacking Camelot, did you not remember how you and I used to be family?" Before he lets her answer, though, he says, "Morgana, there is no reason we can't be family again."

"So, when everyone dear to us is gone, we cling to what we knew long ago?" she asks, a mirthless smile playing over her ruby lips.

"Something like that," Arthur muses. "But really, I miss you, Morgana. Is that so hard to believe?"

"Even after I've threatened your kingdom, after I've wrongly held you accountable for my mistakes?"

"Yes, even after all that." He glances at her curiously. "Haven't you missed me at all?"

"After you tried to kill me so many times? After the man I love chose your 'two sides of a coin' destiny over a life with me?" she scoffs. Unexpectedly, Arthur smiles, and she softly confesses, "Yes. I missed you."

"I knew it," Arthur says, his grin widening. He faces her and says, "Come back with me, Morgana. Come to live with me at the castle. We can start again."

Morgana purses her lips in contemplation. "No." He opens his mouth to argue but before he can get a word in, she continues, "Not at the castle. I'll come back to Camelot, but I won't live in the castle."

Arthur considers for a moment before nodding and saying, "Okay. I'll set you up somewhere in town."

"On the outskirts."

"On the outskirts, then," he agrees, scrutinizing her knowingly. "That didn't take nearly as much convincing as I thought it would."

She laughs, the first real laugh that's crossed her lips in years. "Had you prepared a speech for me?"

"Well," he shrugs, "I did have a lot of time to think on the ride over." He takes a breath. "But really, I've known you since I was nine, and that was a little too easy, Morgana."

Frowning, she digs the toe of her boot into the grass. "It just . . . doesn't seem to mean anything now that he's gone."

"No, it doesn't," Arthur says with a shake of his head. He sighs. "The sun's almost down."

Morgana nods, nods again when he offers to push the boat off. He gives her a moment to lean down, brush a kiss over Merlin's cold forehead, and murmur a regretful goodbye. Her foster brother stays in a low squat to heave the boat away and watch it drift out into the middle of the lake, and she rests a hand on his shoulder. When the boat floats out far enough, Arthur takes a deep breath and rises, surreptitiously swiping away a tear.

"He was a good friend," he says softly, a grimace on his face.

"A great man," Morgana breathes.

Arthur picks up the bow and arrow out of the grass and offers it to her. "You should do the honors."

Swallowing down the lump in her throat, she takes it. When she threads the arrow, he looks around and then gives her a confused look.

"How are you going to light it?" he asks.

Ignoring him, she concentrates and watches the arrow tip burst into flames. The flickering light illuminates her face in the growing twilight.

"Of course," Arthur says, a small smile on his lips. "How silly of me."

Listening to her pulse race, she breathes deeply, aims, and releases the arrow between heartbeats. It flies straight and true, finding its mark and setting the entire boat ablaze. She lowers the bow, keeps her gaze trained on the conflagration in the center of the lake.

"Goodbye, Merlin," she whispers, the words floating out across the water.

The word gives a stunning finality to it all. She'd never said goodbye when he'd left her decades earlier. She hadn't the courage. But now she must truly face life without him – a life without her light, her warmth.

She lets out a long, shaky breath and looks over at Arthur, the heartache plainly written on his face. Sensing her gaze, he steps closer to her and slides an arm around her shoulders.

"We will get through this, Morgana," he assures her quietly, "like we have gotten through everything."

Returning the embrace, she rests her head against his shoulder. "But I will never forget him."

"Nor I."

In the time she has left on this earth, she will endeavor to muddle through, but his memory will forever stay with her. He is in the wind that teases across her cheeks, in the rays of the sun, fanning out vibrantly across the water. He is in the very air she breathes.

And she carries him in her heart – now, forever, until the end of time.


	10. Bonfire

A/N: So, first of all, thank you to everyone who has made it this far, lol. I'm glad you've stuck with this story, and I'm glad that those of you who read the first chapter and wanted more actually asked for more, because I had a blast writing this! :) As usual, thanks to those who have reviewed. I really love to hear from people.

Huge thanks to **MySoapBox **for the beta on this chapter. :)

I do have some more Merlin stories in my head. I know that I'll definitely write one more, but I have a new semester of school and another fandom to write for, so I'm not sure what else I'll be able to finish. Hope you enjoy this one, though! :)

* * *

"Arthur!" Morgana complains as her foster brother drags her down the street toward the celebration.

"Come on," he laughs, the bonfire in the field lighting up his smile even from so far away. "I'll buy you a toffee apple."

Rolling her eyes, Morgana trudges along towards the meadow. Normally, Arthur would come with his friends, and she'd be left alone to wander or simply not attend. But, earlier that evening, he'd insisted on her accompanying him. She hadn't thought much of it, but now, after having time to mull it over, the fact that he'd resorted to begging has convinced her that there's a girl involved.

A thick crowd of people is milling about the field, so thick that the two siblings can hardly make it to the center of the celebration, where a twenty-foot-high bonfire is raging. Morgana follows as Arthur, tall and broad, pushes his way through. He turns and offers to go find some hot chocolate. Nodding, Morgana takes off her gloves and holds them out toward the soaring flames of the bonfire.

She loves fire, has always loved it. Loves the warmth of it, the spreading sensation of belonging it sends through her heart. When she was a child, her father would come home from work, build a fire in the library hearth, and take her onto his lap. She would pretend to read the newspaper with him, and he'd let her have extra dessert.

To this day, she loves sitting in the library and curling up in an armchair to read by the fire.

Breaking herself out of her memories, she checks her watch. Arthur's been gone too long for merely a hot chocolate run. Honestly. He's probably gotten himself lost, giant baby that he is.

Sighing, she pulls her gloves back on and heads toward the booths, just to be safe. Not finding him in line, she looks around and finally locates him standing at the end of a low stone wall, a Styrofoam cup of hot chocolate in each of his hands. As she makes her way over to him, she notices with a smirk the dazed expression on his face. Turning to follow his gaze, she sees a beautiful girl about their age, with curly black hair and a kind smile, sitting on the wall.

She nudges him in the shoulder. "Who's the girl?"

Arthur jumps, startled, almost spills the hot chocolate. "What? Who? Nothing!" he sputters.

Still smiling, she looks again and notices that the object of Arthur's affections is sitting next to a young man. A dark fringe of bangs pokes out from beneath his hat, and his pale skin is illuminated by the nighttime festivities, but he has a bright, happy face, and Morgana's strangely drawn to the way his eyes shine when he smiles, the way she can see the outline of his overlarge ears beneath his knit cap.

"Is that her boyfriend?" she asks, telling herself that she's asking for Arthur's sake alone.

"No," Arthur replies with a shake of his head. "Her best friend. I don't think he likes me very much."

"Well, have you tried being friends with him or have you just been your normal, prattish self?" He sticks his tongue out at her, and she laughs, saying, "Oh! So you were just a prat to him. Nice, Arthur."

He frowns, his shoulders slumping. "What if she doesn't like me?"

She slides a hand onto his shoulder and gently asks, "Have you tried just talking to her?" When he doesn't respond, just swallows nervously, she gives him a little push and says, "Well, go on, then. Go talk to her."

"Will you come with me?" he pleads.

"Why? So I can distract her friend?" She gives him a dry look, but on the inside, the prospect of meeting the dark-haired boy is bizarrely thrilling.

"Please, Morgana. I won't ask anything else of you."

"Like I haven't heard _that_ before," she laughs. But, seeing the sincerity in his eyes, she softens. "Okay, Arthur," she sighs. "Lead the way."

He grins. "Have I ever told you that you're my favorite sister?"

Laughing, she gives him another push. "Shut up and go be charming."

She follows Arthur as he walks across the damp grass and over to where the two friends are sitting. They look up as Arthur and Morgana stop in front of them, and Arthur, beaming, immediately hands the girl one of the cups of hot chocolate in his hand.

Morgana rolls her eyes. She should've taken it when she had the chance. But her foster brother's already ignoring her because he's too smitten with this girl, and the boy sitting on the wall in front of her looks too nervous to start a conversation himself.

Well, it's not like she's never taken matters into her own hands.

Smiling, she holds her hand out to him. "Hi," she greets amiably, "I'm Morgana."

He brightens as he takes her hand and gazes up at her. She's struck by the deep blue of his eyes, the staggering flecks of gold surrounding the iris.

"That's a beautiful name," he says quietly, his voice calm in the raucous night.

For a moment, staring into those eyes, Morgana has to remind herself how to breathe properly. She's always thought of her name as old-fashioned, dull. People have complimented her on her beauty, occasionally on her acerbic personality, but never on her name.

She bites her lip, willing down an unfamiliar swooping sensation in her stomach. She's known him for a minute, and already he can set her pulse racing.

Clearing his throat, he scoots over and gestures for her to sit down. She does so, grimacing slightly at the feel of the cold stone against her already-cold jeans.

"You haven't told me _your_ name," she chastises lightly.

"Oh, it's an embarrassing name. Not as good as yours," he chuckles, his cheeks turning red. But as she urges him with a laugh, he breaks and confesses, "Merlin. My name's Merlin."

She watches his warm breath mushroom in front of his mouth. "Merlin," she repeats, testing the name out and deciding she enjoys the way it rolls off her tongue. And as she takes in his angular cheeks, his sculpted mouth, she comes to another conclusion. "I like it. It suits you."

"Thank you," he says, his grin so wide that his teeth shine in the moonlight. He turns to face her and asks, "So, uh, you're Arthur's friend?"

"Foster sister," she corrects.

"Oh," he intones as his eyebrows disappear beneath his hat. "I didn't know he had a sister."

"I don't live at home anymore, so not a lot of his friends know me. Although . . . you don't really strike me as the type of guy who'd be friends with Arthur Pendragon."

Merlin laughs and adjusts his hat. "No, I suppose I'm not. But Gwen likes him."

"And you tolerate him because she's your best friend?"

"Something like that," he shrugs.

"You two have been friends for a long time?" Morgana inquires.

"Since we were eight, and my mum and I moved across the street from her family, yeah."

"So she's the one who dragged you here tonight?"

"Pretty much," he assents with another laugh and shrug. "But it's not so bad. Nice to get out, away from classes. Cold, though!"

This last assertion is accompanied by an exaggerated shiver, and, as another giggle escapes her lips, Morgana's amazed by how much he's made her smile in just the five minutes they've known each other. She's never met anyone who can draw a smile from her simply by his presence. He doesn't have to crack a joke or even _try_ really. All he has to do is sit beside her in his adorable awkwardness, which seems so contradictory in how comfortable it can make her feel.

"I guess that's what body heat and company are for," she jokes, a bit more suggestively than she means.

The comment makes him blush even harder, but instead of turning away, he grins and proposes, "Perhaps we should cuddle – huddle! together for warmth, then."

She's in stitches, the warmth from her laughter spreading throughout her body, and Merlin's truly mortified now. But his embarrassment dissipates when she leans against him.

"That better?" she asks cheekily.

Surprisingly, he slides a friendly arm around her back. She scoots the tiniest bit closer so their legs press together.

She can feel the motion of his chest as he takes a deep breath, almost like he's deciding something. Finally, he swallows and, without looking at her, asks, "Have we met before?"

Morgana lets her gaze roam over the crowd. It's unsettling when a stranger perfectly understands how you're feeling, even more so when the feeling makes no rational sense.

She _knows_ Merlin.

That's silly, of course, because she only saw him for the first time ten minutes ago. But when she looks into those eyes, she feels like they reach deep down into her and pull out something that was lost long ago.

"No," she breathes.

He frowns, his brow furrowed.

"Hey, guys!" Arthur calls from his perch beside Gwen. "The fireworks are about to start!"

Sure enough, a red pinwheel chooses that moment to explode above their heads, the boom resounding through Morgana's chest. She tilts her head and sneaks a glance at Merlin, watching his face widen in wonder as the colors erupt in the night sky. She smiles, turns her gaze back to the show, lets her vision cloud with the vibrancy of it all.

For once, she decides, she's happy that Arthur's dragged her along.

* * *

"You're taking me to a bar?" Merlin asks with a laugh.

Smiling sheepishly, Morgana points up at the sign hanging over the door. It depicts a not-so-fierce dragon wearing glasses and holding a quill pen.

"This is where I work," she explains. "Now hush up, or I'll make you pay for your drinks."

He holds the door open for her and asks conversationally, "You're a barmaid? Very cool."

"Yeah, well," she shrugs, walking into the warmth of the bar, "I'm just biding my time until I can figure out what to do with my life. Or until I can save up enough money for a road trip."

They pause in the threshold to take off their coats and hang them on hooks behind the door. Merlin sheds his cap, his short hair sticking up at odd angles. The darkness of it sets off his ears, his cheekbones – so pale in the bar's dim lighting – and Morgana's struck by that swooping in her stomach again.

She chokes it down when Merlin looks at her and says, "I have to confess, I don't drink very much. Gwen took me out for my twenty-first birthday last month, and I'll have a beer from time to time, but I don't really know anything about actual drinks."

She takes his hand and drags him toward the bar. "That's a dangerous thing to say to a barkeep, Merlin."

They reach the far corner of the bar, and he claims a stool while she makes her way behind the counter. It's not super crowded, and Morgana counts her blessings.

"Why?" he asks, his eyebrows raised in amusement.

Morgana shoots him a wicked grin, leans her elbows on the counter. "Because now I'll make you try _everything_."

Swiveling on the stool, he lets out a laugh. "Sounds like someone's trying to get me drunk."

She takes two glasses from beneath the bar and sets them in front of Merlin. She lifts a brow. "And if I am?"

This time, even the tips of his ears go red. "Honestly? I . . . probably wouldn't know what to do," he stammers. "I haven't been on many dates, so I'd probably just go along with anything you told me to do."

Morgana straightens and looks straight at his burning face. She tries to keep a smirk from her lips as she queries, "So you think this is a date?"

She hadn't thought it was possible for Merlin's cheeks to go any redder, but apparently it is. Surprisingly, though, he has the courage to answer, "Well, you _did_ ask me to come out tonight. That could technically constitute a date."

Now it's Morgana's turn to blush fiercely. Since she met him just sixteen days ago, they've hung out thirteen of those days, whether it be grabbing lunch or hanging out with Arthur and Gwen at the pizza place near their university. Twice, she's even brought him a pick-me-up coffee at the library while he was studying and writing papers.

But that doesn't mean either of them has had the courage to define whatever they are. By mutual, unspoken agreement, the words 'boyfriend' and 'girlfriend' are off the table.

Luckily, she's spared from answering when a blonde barmaid walks over.

"Morgana," she greets with a smile. "I didn't know you were working tonight."

"Hey, Laura," Morgana replies, a grateful look in her eye. "I'm not actually. This is Merlin. I just brought him in for a drink." Morgana gestures to Merlin, then leans in and whispers loudly, "He doesn't know what kinds of drinks he likes."

Laura regards him with feigned alarm, her eyes wide and a hand covering her mouth. "_No_," she chuckles. "Well, have fun. I'll let customers know you're off-duty. And make sure he has an Irish Car Bomb."

"You're horrible!" A smile on her face, she turns back to Merlin and places her hands on the bar. "So, what do you want to try first?"

Pretending to think, he contorts his lips and strokes his chin, covered by the slightest bit of stubble. "I'm guessing _not_ an Irish Car Bomb?"

"Maybe we should wait for that until you're a bit more experienced."

"Well, I dunno then," he hums as he drums his fingers on the countertop. "Hit me with, em, a martini?"

"Let me guess: shaken, not stirred."

"How'd you know?" he exclaims with a broad smile.

She rolls her eyes and swaps his highball glass for a martini glass, deciding to give him a standard gin-and-vodka James Bond martini. "I work in a bar. Not the first time I've heard that line."

Chuckling, he asks, "Have people ever given you the 'Bond, James Bond' thing?"

"All the time," she responds dryly, flicking a glance up at him.

He doesn't say anything else, just smiles and watches as she makes swift work of his martini. She slides it across the bar to him and goes to work on her own Mai Tai. As she's pouring in the triple sec, though, his eyes on her suddenly make her self-conscious. She's always been the confident girl, and she marvels how easily he can make her feel beautiful, but also how effortlessly he makes her want to strive for so much more than mere outward beauty.

She's known him for just over two weeks now, and already he makes her want to be more than she is.

She glances up somewhat shyly. "What?"

The grin seemingly permanently plastered onto his face, he shrugs. "It's just . . . I like being around you." He rests his chin on his fist, and his voice is soft when he admits, "It's easy, and I'm . . . comfortable."

"Like I've known you for a thousand years," she murmurs under her breath, fixing her gaze on the ice cubes in her glass so she won't have to meet his eyes – those startlingly gold and blue eyes.

"Yeah," he agrees quietly.

They descend back into a relaxed silence as she finishes mixing her drink and slides around the corner of the bar to hop onto the adjacent bar stool.

"So," Morgana asks, finally raising her eyes to his piercing gaze, "what should we toast to?"

Merlin raises his glass enthusiastically. "To new friends."

Nodding, she takes a deep breath and chinks her glass against his. "To new beginnings."

He takes a sip of his martini. "New beginnings," he agrees happily before his mouth twists into a grimace from the taste of the drink.

Morgana lets out a delighted laugh at the expression on his face.

Yep. She's _definitely_ happy that Arthur dragged her along a couple weeks ago. She'll have to find a way to thank him soon.

For now, though, she's with Merlin and wonderfully content in his company. She rests her elbow on the bar and her cheek against her palm, her gaze dropping down toward his mouth as he licks the taste of the martini off his lips. Catching her stare, he leans forward slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.

He's close enough now that she can smell the musk of his cologne, and Morgana decides that she could inhale that scent every second of her life and never get enough of it.

"Morgana," he whispers, his breath teasing against her lips.

"Yeah?"

"Would it be all right if –"

"Yeah," she breathes before leaning up to close the distance between them.

He tastes of gin, and evergreen, and freedom, and the discovery is so exhilarating that she slides a hand into his hair, fisting the tendrils into her grasp to pull him flush against her. He cups her face in his large, strong palms, and a tingling sensation of warmth spreads through her as his tongue ghosts over her bottom lip.

His kiss sparks something within her that's lain dormant her entire life, and she's never felt so _alive_.

When they break apart, Merlin shoots her a sparkling smile, his eyes shimmering in the half-light of the bar.

Despite their previously understood agreement, Morgana's pretty sure she's just claimed him as her boyfriend. By the grin spreading over his lips as he leans in to kiss her again, he seems to be more than okay with that.

His soft lips mold against hers, and, reveling in their suppleness, their familiarity, Morgana feels the stirrings of something recovered and recognizable. She doesn't need the fire in her heart to tell her that she's found the missing piece of herself.

He's hers – always has been, always will be.


End file.
